


When The Dust Settles

by lindsey_grissom



Category: Holby City
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, F/F, Fluff, StandAlones, domestic fluffy nonsense, episode tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-22 08:51:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8280055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindsey_grissom/pseuds/lindsey_grissom
Summary: As the title might suggest, this is a collection (unconnected though they may be) of just fluffy, domestic or feelgood fic, ostensibly set after Bernie's return and the awkward and/or painful conversations have taken place. Just somewhere I can put all my little fluffy one shots, really.  And any prompts I might receive along that line.





	1. Taking Things Slowly

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks eternally to phantomunmasked for her superb beta and cheerleading skills. 
> 
> Summary for this little one shot is simply... _The Morning After_.

Sliding hangers across the rail, Bernie shivers a little and considers the red shirt in front of her, just for something to put on before she freezes. It is a nice shirt, she has good memories of that shirt but...with a shake of her head she slides it away with the others and keeps on searching. It's not the shirt she wants.

Mentally tallying up another leopard print blouse - that's six now - Bernie finally catches sight of a blue one and smiles in triumph. That's the one.

Pulling it out of the wardrobe she slips it off its hanger, bringing it to her nose briefly just to inhale the fresh clean smell. It still smells like Serena.

Shrugging into it and dropping the empty hanger onto the bed, Bernie works on the buttons, stopping a button lower than is likely decent. The hem flaps about at the tops of her thighs and when she moves to close Serena's wardrobe doors, she catches sight of her sleep shorts peeking out of the bottom in the mirror.

Yes, it isn't at all decent for company but then if she gets her way today, they won't be seeing anyone but each other and Serena saw her in far less last night.

Raking a hand through her hair to puff up some of the sleep-flattening, Bernie nods at her reflection, marvelling at the little smile that just won't leave her face.

She contemplates going back for socks as soon as her bare feet touch the cool wood of Serena's stairs, but that would rather destroy the look she's aiming for so she carries on, padding her way down towards the kitchen.

She stops in the doorway, hip against the frame to watch Serena flip something in a pan. It smells like eggs and cinnamon and she suddenly can't recall if anyone has ever made her French toast before.

There's a little cowlick of hair at the back of Serena's head that's sticking up and Bernie remembers tangling her fingers right there. The memory makes her smile widen, as does the thought that follows; she’s had her fingers in all sorts of places now.

The kitchen floor is cooler than the hallway as Bernie tiptoes across it.

She's so busy watching the way Serena's hips wiggle as she shakes the pan, a little teasing of skin where her top separates from her rumpled scrub trousers, that her thigh catches on the back of a chair, sending it screeching across the wood.

So much for stealth.

"Don't tell me you're clumsy in the mornings?" Serena smirks over her shoulder and Bernie nudges the chair back into place

"Only when I've had so little sleep."

Serena laughs, tapping a spatula against the edge of the pan. "I'll have to remember that."

Finally making it safely across the kitchen, Bernie rests her hands on Serena's hips, peering over her shoulder to see the lightly browning bread.

"I was going to bring this up." Serena chides and Bernie drops a kiss to her hair, pulls back a little to nose at that cowlick.

"Probably best this way. You don't seem the sort of woman to be very tolerant of crumbs in bed." She can't see, but she's fairly certain Serena is rolling her eyes, her elbow digging back into Bernie's stomach.

"Go and sit down, you."

Instead, Bernie lets her fingers play with the waistband of Serena's mock-pyjamas, tugging at the elastic and letting it ping back from her fingers with a snap.

"Oi!"

"I didn't know you'd worked on Darwin." She tucks her fingertips in below the elastic again, but this time leaves them there, warming up against Serena's skin.

"I haven't." Serena flips the bread, free hand reaching out for a jar of cinnamon and sprinkling it over the pan. "Aside from a consult or two. Not really my area."

"So why...?" Bernie curls her fingers, forcing the navy scrubs to tent out around her knuckles.

"They're a good colour." Serena shrugs, cocking her hip a little to press it back into Bernie's fingers. "As you well know. Besides, what Jac Naylor doesn't know..."

"Thief." Bernie whispers, snapping the elastic again.

"You can talk; don't think I didn't notice your trauma bay colour choice, Ms Wolfe. Not exactly AAU approved is it?"

Serena flips the toast again and Bernie moves her fingers out from beneath her waistband, letting them dance along the little bits of exposed flesh at Serena's hips instead, snuffling a laugh at the way the woman squirms against her. "I don't know, you've never raised a complaint about them before."

"You do look good in navy." Serena squirms again, pressing against Bernie as she tries to get away from the tickling. "Stop that."

Bernie grins, bending down to kiss along Serena's bare shoulders. Freckles. Serena has freckles that she had never seen before last night. There are little scars there too, a scattering of what must have been quite deep cuts, but it isn't the time to ask about them.

Serena hadn't asked about any of Bernie's either, though the way her hands would pause before rubbing across them tells her they hadn't gone unnoticed.

Passing her lips over a thin strap, Bernie grazes her teeth along a particularly freckled patch of skin. "Make me."

Serena jumps, the pan scraping noisily over the hob and turns around in Bernie's arms. She points the spatula at the table, nearly braining them getting it out of the tight space between them. "Go sit, before you burn us both."

"You're not afraid of a little heat are you, Ms Campbell?" But she backs away anyway, suddenly feeling the cold under her feet again.

"I'm afraid I'll spend my free day in the ED with third degree burns."

Pulling out a chair, Bernie slumps into it, drawing her feet up onto the seat of another. "I'm sure between us we could manage without a trip to Holby."

"Not if you're as burnt up as I am." Serena turns away from the hob, pausing a second on her way to a cupboard to wave a hand at Bernie. "Why are your feet on my chair?"

"The floor's cold."

Bernie just catches the rolling of her eyes this time, as Serena ducks down to pull out two plates. "That's why humans invented little things called socks."

Bernie looks down to Serena's own feet, toes wiggling pointedly beneath a layer of fluffy cotton.

"Bare feet are sexier." She mutters before graciously pushing out the chair beneath her feet as Serena switches off the hob and empties the pan onto the plates.

"Foot-fetish, aye? I'll have to remember that too."

Bernie can feel her cheeks heating, but is mostly distracted by the delicious smell wafting up from the plate Serena places in front of her. "It's not a fetish, I was going for a particular look."

"Frost bite?" Serena raises an eyebrow and Bernie cuts into her toast, viciously stabbing at a square with her fork.

"Eat your breakfast."

"Sir, yessir." Serena salutes lazily with her own fork and Bernie has something particularly pithy to say in response but forgets it as soon as her mouth closes over the first bite of toast.

"Where did you learn this?" She manages, after an embarrassingly long moan. Already digging back in for more.

A glance across at Serena finds her frozen, fork halfway to her mouth, her eyes dark. Bernie smirks, she supposes that was a rather dirty moan. "Serena?"

Serena jerks, toast falling off her fork back to her plate and Bernie watches as she blinks away whatever thoughts had been crowding her mind. "Sorry? Oh, in France."

"You learnt to cook in France?"

Serena nods, talking between bites. "Paris. Mum used to go there a lot, when I was little. She'd be working and I'd wander off. Kept ending up in this little café, I think the staff took pity on me."

Bernie imagines a young Serena, cheeks sun-pinked, bright intelligent eyes and isn't a bit surprised she was indulged. "They let you in the kitchens?"

Serena nods, swallowing. "Taught me everything from French toast to a proper boulubas. I make a fairly acceptable gruyere soufflé too."

"Marry me." Bernie jokes without thinking and Serena chokes, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth as she coughs.

"And here I thought you wanted to take things slow." Serena winks at her and settles her hand back on the table.

Bernie's shoulders relax, muscles she didn't even realise she'd tensed unknotting. She hadn't been sure how well Serena had taken their talks last night, but if she can joke - with real humour, not the awkward falsity of a few weeks ago - then perhaps they're on the same page after all.

Cutting up some more toast, Bernie stretches out her legs, raising them up to nudge her toes against Serena's thigh. "Good lord woman, your feet are like ice." Serena shifts on her seat until Bernie finds her feet warmly tucked beneath her thighs. "Next time you're wearing socks."

Bernie grins around her fork, wiggling her toes and feeling Serena flinch; she probably won't.

  
**_End._ **

 


	2. Glasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very little snippet of life with Serena and Bernie. Just another Saturday morning...

  
"What're you doing?"

Bernie looks up, hands still scattering magazines across Serena's coffee table and grimaces. "I can't find my glasses."

"Again?"

Pointing a finger at the smirking woman, Bernie abandons the magazines and bends down to hunt around the small pile of books by the sofa. "That's not helpful."

"Can you blame me? It's the third time this week." Serena pushes away from the doorframe. "When did you last have them?"

"Last night." Bernie gives up with the books and spins around, rising back to her feet.

"Hmm, have you looked in the kitchen?"

Frowning, Bernie shoves a hand down the side of the armchair, narrowing her eyes at her glasses case: open and empty on the arm. "Why would they be in there?"

"I don't know, why were they in the shed yesterday? You abandon them when you wander."

"But I didn't go to the kitch-oh."

"Oh?" Serena shakes her head - likely frustration at the mess Bernie has made of the living room - and grabs a wonky cushion off the sofa, plumping it between her hands before settling it back in place.

"You made that bread, with the olives? I was peckish."

Second cushion clasped in her hands, Serena spins to glare at Bernie who tries hard to appear sheepish. "That was supposed to be for Jason's bake sale, Bernie."

"I didn't eat all of it?"

Despite her impressive training, Bernie doesn't see the cushion coming until it smacks into her arm. "That doesn't matter! He can't sell a part-eaten loaf."

"You could sell it by the slice?"

"Berenice Wolfe." Serena holds the cushion up threateningly, shaking it a little and Bernie ducks back a step, laughing.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You're right, I shouldn't have taken any." Serena nods her agreement and Bernie eyes the cushion. "Can you put the weapon down now?"

Serena smiles, stroking a hand down the corduroy, darkening the colour. "I don't know, seems a pretty good way to keep you in line, Ms Wolfe."

"Serena-" Bernie reaches out for the other cushion and Serena throws her hands up.

"Fine, fine. Go get your glasses."

"Right. Kitchen." Moving out from between the sofa and coffee table, Bernie heads for the kitchen while Serena puts the cushion back in place and moves on to straightening up the magazines. It must be exhausting always being so tidy.

"They're by the sink." Serena calls when Bernie makes it to the hallway and Bernie can just imagine the smirk on her face.

"Great, thanks."

"Where your plate is." Bernie winces, right. "And the bread knife. You might want to wash those up while you're out there."

"Will do." She calls back, already rolling the sleeves of her jumper up. Serena has a surprisingly small number of house rules, but not leaving dishes in the sink is one of them and Bernie does know better, really.

Filling the sink with water and Fairy, she snags her elusive glasses up from the side and hooks them over the neck of her top. The sink half full she plunges her hands in and starts wiping.

"When you're done." Bernie jumps, splashing water; Serena's voice coming from the doorway. "You can have another slice of bread if you like?"

"What about the sale?"

Serena smirks, walking over and grabbing at a tea towel to take a clean plate from Bernie's hand. "You think I didn't make two, knowing how you are with olive bread? You underestimate me, Ms Wolfe."

Bernie laughs, shaking her head; "Well played, Ms Campbell" and flicks a handful of bubbles at Serena's face.

_**End.** _

 


	3. It'll Take More Than Your Stray Animals To Scare Me Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For tabsolanya on tumblr:  
> 84\. “Show me what’s behind your back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters are a couple of drabbles I wrote in response to a prompt meme and follower requests. They rather fit into the theme of this collection so...

When Serena was little, maybe five or six, with little light brown curls and freckles across her nose, she wanted a puppy.

Everyone wanted a puppy when Serena was little.

Everyone except her mother.

So little curly-haired freckled Serena…didn’t get a puppy.

{She got a spider from the back of the shed, instead. Made a house for it out of an old shoebox and wrapped string up along the top so it would have somewhere to play. Spider she called him and even wrote it on the outside of his house.

Spider ran away from his house somewhere between mother tucking her in to bed that night and daddy waking her up for breakfast the next morning. Serena kept his house in the corner of her room for a couple more months just in case.}

 

* * *

 

When Serena was old enough to start slamming doors and shouting at her mother and curling the waistband of her skirts up so the hem came up above her knees, she wanted a cat.

Not a silly little fluffy puff of a thing, but something that yowled when you disturbed it and would swipe out with angry claws if you annoyed it.

Short skirted, moody Serena wanted a cat that would probably eat you if you sat still long enough.

A lion would do, or a leopard, but she’d settle for the nasty spiteful little tabby thing in the pet shop up the road.

Needless to say, Serena didn’t get a cat. A few more doors got slammed for a while though.

 

* * *

  
Elinor went through the puppy stage {without the spider thank heavens; Serena’s affinity for eight legged creepy crawlies had rather run out by then} and the cat stage {more slamming doors, shorter skirts and Serena never once spoke to her mother like that} and a rather terrifying snake stage that lead to an ironclad ‘nothing without legs comes into this house’ rule that only had to be enforced once.

Serena got Ellie a goldfish and a hamster and a small little white mouse she secretly called Mickey that mysteriously vanished when Elinor was 12 and Serena’s pager went off while she was cleaning out the cage.

 

* * *

 

Jason sometimes collected bugs from the bottom of the garden and put them in jars and tubs in his room. They always had the right kind of leaves to chew on and the correct number of holes in the lids and he wouldn’t let Serena anywhere near them {which was fine by Serena, it wasn’t like she wanted to dust around his menagerie of crickets, worms and the odd butterfly}.

He asked if they could get a dog just once but after Elinor and the years of 'why not?’ and 'please mum’ and 'you never let me have anything I want’ Serena had seen it coming and was prepared.

Fifteen minutes and one rather intense discussion on routines and dog-based disruptions later and they were both agreed that now was perhaps not the best time.

{That it is around about this time that a certain Wolfe comes bounding into Serena’s life with coffee and smiles and that irresistible charm is just further proof that Serena had been right and even the most ordered life can completely unravel when set upon by a pair of earnest brown eyes.}

 

* * *

 

By the time Bernie settles back from Kyiv and Serena has properly given up her anger this time and Jason looks a lot more smug than he should about the whole thing, Bernie’s been living out of a suitcase for a month, in a hotel that must have concrete mattresses given the state of her back. The first time they touch with any sort of purpose is when Serena gives into Bernie’s gasps and moans and offers up another massage.

She also offers up her guest room until Bernie finds another rental or gets her money together and buys herself some permanent property-based roots.

{Inevitably they kiss while doing the washing up after cottage pie night. They don’t even make it a week.}

Serena tells Bernie the “no legless pets” rule one evening, curled up on the sofa watching QI with Jason. She thinks it’s a funny story and Bernie does laugh. Bernie also kisses Serena’s wrists and cuddles her tight and thinks about the little cat she saw in the pet shop window on her way home last night.

 

* * *

 

The cat is the first one.

Then there’s a gecko with one front leg shorter than the other.

Serena comes home from a two day conference in London, to find a tank in the corner of the living room housing an array of fish in more colours and patterns than her own shirt collection.

She puts her foot down when it comes to the mice. Stomps them both when Bernie uses her favourite crock pot to build a nest for a slightly chilled hedgehog one December.

By the time they’ve been living together for a year, the guest room {that was only ever Bernie’s for a week and a half} is filled with a bookcase of books on pet care for a range of exotic and home-grown pets and more indoor hutches, tanks and soft blanket beds than the closest PetsAtHome store.

Serena has taken to greeting Bernie at the door with; “show me what’s behind your back” and only three times out of ten is surprised to find its a bunch of flowers or a bottle of shiraz.

 

* * *

 

  
Jason and Elinor think it’s hilarious that Serena can’t seem to say no and Serena just hopes Bernie isn’t building up to asking for a puppy this Christmas, because she might just end up getting her one.

 


	4. ...Comes To Us All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12\. “She’s hiding behind the sofa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For armwrestlesandraspberryripple on tumblr

“…two…one…ready or not, here I come. Slower than I’d like.” Serena adds quietly, pressing one hand to the floor and the other against the coffee table and hoisting herself up. Her knee gives an ominous crack as she stands and she winces.

“Alright there, Ms Campbell?” Bernie smirks from her place on the sofa, eyes sparkling behind her glasses.

“Wonderful, Ms Wolfe.”

“Sure you didn’t break anything? I thought I might have heard something go. Not your hip was it?”

“Har bl- uh, blooming har.” Bernie laughs, turning another page in her book.

“Better be careful, you know you’re on your last warning with Morven.”

Serena narrows her eyes, huffing. “Not my fault the little imp’s such a light sleeper.”

“Who’d have thought, really, that she’d pick up so many bad words from you.” Bernie continues, turning another page with a flourish. Serena is eighty percent sure Bernie isn’t reading a word of it.

“Oh hush, she could have just as easily picked that one up from you.”

“Oh no, no. That one was all you, right down to the inflection, even tried to add my name to it as I recall.”

There’s a small squeak from behind the sofa and Serena’s lips turn up in a smile as a little body thumps down on the floor, hidden between the sofa back and the wall.

Bernie raises an eyebrow, looking up again and smiling back at Serena before raising her voice. “Now, Serena, where on earth could that little girl be?”

“Oh, I don’t know, is she behind the curtain?” Stomping heavily, Serena walks over to the window, checking over the top of the sofa as she does and smiling at the little curly-haired head ducked down there. Pulling the curtain back with a dramatic flourish, she groans, shaking her head. “Oh no, not there.”

“Try the coffee table.” Bernie suggests, pointing helpfully to it. Serena bends down to look but a little hum has her looking back up. “No, I don’t think you’ll find her looking like that. Best get all the way down there Campbell.”

She’ll remind Bernie of this, she thinks sinking back down onto her knees again and twisting to look under the empty coffee table, the next time the woman’s back goes and she’s using pleading puppy eyes and begging to get a massage, she’ll remind her of this.

“Not there.” She says out loud, narrowing her eyes at Bernie’s smirk. “I wonder where she could be?”

Before Bernie can make another suggestion, Serena pushes herself to her knees and shuffles over to the dresser, loudly opening and closing the cupboards and drawers. Another few cracks and she’s back up on her feet again, heading over to check behind the lamp and the arm chair.

The longer she searches, the louder the giggles get from behind the sofa and by the time she’s pretending to look for the child in the magazine rack, Bernie has abandoned her book completely, glasses folded over the top and has one hand up over her mouth to keep her own laughter in check.

“Oh no! I’ve lost-”

“What are you doing Auntie Serena?”

Serena jerks, Jason’s voice cutting her off and causing the precariously balanced pile of magazines in her hand to avalanche across the floor.

“Evening Jason. We’re looking for-” before Bernie can finish, there’s a delighted squeal and Jason tilts his head.

“You’re playing hide and seek.” He says, pointing at Serena. “You’re not very good, she’s hiding behind the sofa.”

“Yes, thank you Jason.” Serena rolls her eyes, gathering the magazines back up and stacking them back in place, unsurprised when a little figure rushes past her to skid to a halt at Jason’s legs.

“I was hiding forever!”

“Not forever.” Jason corrects, letting his hand be taken and starting to head for the kitchen. “But probably a long time, Auntie Serena isn’t very fast.”

Bernie laughs, and Serena reaches over to smack her with a magazine.

“Mummy says old people aren’t very fast. But Auntie Bernie’s fast and Auntie Serena says she’s really old.”

Serena chuckles, hands against her thighs as Bernie turns a glare on her. “Three months, Serena Campbell!”

“Still older.” She sing-songs and gallantly pretends she doesn’t hear the crackles as she stands, it would rather ruin the moment after all.


	5. Long Day?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 59\. “I could punch you right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For bernie-campbell on tumblr

“Serena?”

“Bernie.”

“Serena.”

“Bernie?”

“Serena-”

“Okay, I’m going to stop this now before we become locked in some juvenile loop; _‘You hang up, no you hang up’_.” Her voice gets high and Bernie briefly wonders if that’s what a pre-teen Serena might actually have sounded like, before shaking her head and taking the final step into their office.

The door clicks shut behind her and Bernie flinches. Perhaps she should have wedged it open with a chair, quick exit route and all that.

“Serena-”

“Really, Bernie?” Serena sounds annoyed now, finally looking up from her computer and frowning.

_Way to go Berenice; annoy her before you get to the delightful bit of news you have for her._

Bernie takes another few quick steps to bring her closer to Serena’s desk, snagging one of the visitor chairs on the way and dropping down into it close by Serena’s side.

“Sere-” she cuts herself off, but not quick enough for Serena not to have already slapped her hand down on the desk between them.

“I could punch you right now, Ms Wolfe.”

Bernie will admit to getting a bit of a thrill from the growl in Serena’s voice.

“That seems unnecessarily violent, Ms Campbell. You usually like it when I say your name.”

Serena sighs, rubbing her eyes carefully, just a little of her remaining mascara coming off on her fingertips. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.” She reaches out, patting Bernie’s forearm and smiling her apology. “It’s these damn departmental reviews. I swear there are at least five more pages of questions this year.”

Wincing, Bernie rests her own hand over Serena’s on her arm, rubbing at her knuckles with her thumb. “Surely not.”

“No, but I wouldn’t put it past Ric actually. He did look particularly smug when he told me he was sending them over.”

“He’s the one that has to read them, eventually, I’m sure he wouldn’t make more work for himself, even to spite you.”

Serena laughs, that sarcastic little ‘ho-ho’ that only seems to occur when she’s feeling particularly harried. “No, because see as the CEO, temporary or otherwise, he has deigned to use his newly acquired powers to delegate that delightful job to moi. So actually, these are likely the only reports he’ll be reading.”

“Oh.”

“Exactly.”

Bernie wonders if their new 'no kissing in the office’ rule has reached the stage where she can start breaking it yet, but as it was only this morning that Serena decreed it - following another of those painful hip checks to the desk trying to scrabble away from each other at a knock at the door - probably not.

“You could have said no.” She says instead of reaching over and dragging Serena into said banned kiss.

“Yes. But I didn’t. God knows when the man would have read them himself. I’ve seen first hand how well he manages paperwork.”

Bernie fights the urge to reach out and ruffle Serena’s hair. Her love for Holby is one of her most endearing qualities, even if sometimes it’s also the cause of their disagreements over proper procedure and treatment plans. She’d help her out, as co-lead but the 'do not touch that paperwork Ms Wolfe’ rule is even more unbreakable than the kissing one.

“Still,” Serena says brightly, clapping her hands together. “Only half an hour to go and then you and I can kick this joint, throw ourselves into a vat of Shiraz and…” She waggles her eyebrows.

Oh yes. That.

“Serena.” Bernie says, biting her lip.

Serena points a finger at her. “Don’t start that again!”

Bernie reaches out for the pointing digit, pulling it down to the desk. “No, listen I…well, you see, you see Morven has a, well I suppose 'date’ might be too large a…but it did seem like she was quite excited and…and it’s fairly quiet so I thought…what with Raf being on at 3, that I might-”

“Please tell me that what you’re struggling to say isn’t that you’ve signed yourself up for another few hours tonight?”

Bernie smiles sheepishly. “Just until Raf gets in.”

“Bernie!”

“You don’t have to stay! In fact, you should go, go home, rest, have a drink. Doesn’t have to ruin your plans.”

Serena shakes her head, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms with a little pout. She reminds Bernie of Evie for a moment and she wonders who learnt from who.

“You being at home was rather integral to my 'plans’ Bernie and you know it.”

“Sorry. Rain check?”

Serena narrows her eyes and Bernie figures rules are meant to be broken, lifting up from her seat and leaning over to press her lips against Serena’s.

“I’ll make it up to you.” She says, pulling away and nuzzling Serena’s jaw and down to her neck.

“You’d better.” Serena says, but the force is rather lacking in the breathless quality of her voice. “If I’m staying here another few hours.”

“Well,” Bernie says, stepping back with a final kiss to Serena’s chin, “at least you’ll get those reports done now.”

“Oh, goody.”


	6. Serena Campbell...unsurprisingly surprising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 29\. “How is my wife more badass than me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For mistressdickens

Bernie has long accepted that when it comes right down to it, Serena is more than capable of surprising her at every turn.

As a rule Bernie is not great with surprises, she doesn’t like surprise parties, she loathes surprise visits from anyone outside of her rather closed circle of loved ones and friends and ‘I’ve got something to tell you’ can only be good news if you’re trying for a baby or you’ve recently purchased a lottery ticket for a large draw.

But when it comes to Serena, Bernie finds that her wife’s surprises tend to be a little less harrowing, if not rather more life changing.

 **{Exhibit 1: She has a wife.**  
**Exhibits 1 A, B and C: Serena didn’t ask, Serena said yes and Bernie didn’t run away from the wedding before a slightly too gleeful Dom could pronounce them Wife and Wife above the voice of their minister and Raf leant in to kiss Bernie’s bride.}**

At first it’s little things, expected things because while they’re friends and they delved right in with divorce talk and complicated aunt/nephew situations and betrayal-by-progeny, they didn’t do favourite colours or discuss how Serena will happily chug down trucker-strength coffee but turns her nose up at Tesco’s own teabags.

So Bernie is surprised to learn that Serena’s throwaway comment about 'Mills & Boon’ belies an intimate knowledge of the genre from a youth spent sneaking the raunchy novels out of the library tucked into the middle of her anatomy text books.

She’s slightly less surprised to learn that Serena’s preference for leopard print extends further than a scrub cap and the odd blouse; the shoes are a wonderful discovery, all the more so when she digs deep into the back of Serena’s underwear drawer looking for a stray sock and discovers a lingerie set that sets the shoes off perfectly.

**{Exhibit 2: Serena has a devastating purr}**

Learning about Serena’s mother and the marks on her back and arms only surprises Bernie with the horror of it; that Serena is a survivor and tough as nails is definitely old news.

There’s Serena’s love of winter jumpers and her hatred of prawn cocktail crisps. That she has a key cut for Bernie three months before she gathers up the courage to present it to Bernie and then admits that in the same breath she uses to ask Bernie to move in.

The built-in cupboard in the second spare bedroom that just about crushes Bernie when she inadvertently starts an avalanche of…well, stuff, opening it on a whim and finding the place completely jammed with badly balanced boxes.

**{Exhibit 3: Serena somehow manages to get Bernie to repeat that so many times at dinner that night, that eventually none of the words even sound real anymore and Serena starts referring to it as the 3B incident.}**

It turns out that Serena is fluent in three different languages and no matter what both she and Raf contest, being able to read a menu, book a room, ask for directions and order the perfect wine for dinner in German, French and Italian definitely counts as fluent when Bernie spent years on various tours in the Middle East and never learnt a jot.

They don’t talk about the little Ukrainian that Bernie picked up because she had to do something between bottles of whisky and trauma cases when she was trying not to pick up the phone and call Serena.

**{Exhibit 4: Serena is only good at holding onto life long to the grave grudges when it comes to cheating ex-husbands. Cowardly ex-medics get more chances than they probably deserve.}**

Serena is easier to live with than Bernie could ever have imagined and it takes Bernie at least eight weeks to realise it’s because she’s letting Bernie have free rein on everything that doesn’t affect Jason and his schedules.

They have a talk, that perhaps they should have had when Bernie first came back and before Serena gave her a key and when Serena is certain that Bernie won’t run at the first hint of trouble, Bernie finds her abandoned mugs being noisily gathered together at the end of the day and the first shower of the morning no longer being hers and everything feels a little more comfortable after that.

That’s not to say that they never have fights. They have fights and they make up and between them they’ve only ever broken one plate in the heat of the moment and that was rather a different kind of heat altogether.

**{Exhibit 5: Serena is always right. Even when they both think she’s not, inevitably it will turn out that she is, somewhere down the line.}**

Five years, two vows and a slightly drunken first dance - that started with Serena valiantly attempting to ballroom dance in heels and ended with said heels in her hand, flung over Bernie’s shoulder and knocking into her back every time she moved Serena in a turn - later, and Bernie supposes that she shouldn’t be at all surprised when her wife finishes talking to a characteristically blank-faced Jac Naylor, takes the helmet from beneath the surgeon’s arm and shoves it over her head and keys swinging from her fingers, saunters over to the red head’s new bike.

Bernie should definitely not be surprised when her wife straddles the bike, kicks up the kick stand and revs the engine and then, shirt waving about around her, spins the bike in a quick turn and guns it down the centre of the hospital car park in a squeal of rubber tyres.

She shouldn’t be surprised enough to turn to Raf, jaw dropped and heart pounding and ask; “How is my wife more badass than me?”

She should definitely not be surprised by his quick answer.

“She’s Serena Campbell.”

Well, there is _that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should anyone want to make any requests, please do! I'm always up for a little inspiration. :)


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